Chapter 4


    "My father owned a waste disposal company," he began, "we had a contract with the government to get rid of toxic oil. Then when the fuel prices hit and the price of oil rose my father thought 'Why run all this perfectly good oil through a high temperature incinerator and get rid of it, when it would burn just as well in power plants?'  He knew an oil supplier, talked with him, and made a deal. We had a man at the railroad yard switch the tags on the tank cars, marked them as oil additive for industrial oil, and we mixed the toxic waste with fuel oil.  At first we sold it just to power plants, but then the demand became greater and greater.  We found there were other waste products that were also burnable, and we started adding them to the mix.  We found that they not only worked in fuel oil for the power plants but for houses too.  Then we found some of it could even be added to gasoline.  We were making a fortune, MILLIONS a month, which we were putting into Caribbean bank accounts.
    Then some kids that lived near a power plant got leukemia, and a Spiritist doctor noticed traces of toxins in their blood.  He traced it to the fuel oil.  They arrested the distributor and charged him with murder. He panicked and betrayed my father and everybody else.  They charged my father with murder.  But we had a good lawyer.  He pleaded that all the evidence against my father was circumstantial, couldn't be proven, and even if it could, it could not be proven that the toxic waste was actually responsible for the children's deaths.  It was all hypothetical.  
    He got my father off, but the government fired him.  The community shunned him.  Friends we'd had for years wouldn't have anything to do with us any more.  
    One afternoon my father and his lawyer were sitting in a restaurant having lunch when the father of one of the dead kids walked in. He never said a word, he just walked up to my father and his lawyer, and shot them, murdered them right there in front of my mother and our lawyer's wife, then put the gun in his mouth and shot himself.
    We tried to prove that The Spir had been responsible, that they had put the guy up to it.  They took care of his wife and kids, gave them an income for the rest of their lives, but nobody would listen, everybody said it was something that couldn't be proved.  The man had just been a distraught father.  It couldn't be proven The Spiritists had arranged my father's murder.
    Then the men came to my mother.  They told her they knew about the millions in the bank accounts, that there were other irate fathers ready to avenge their children and if  she didn't want something to happen to her and her children she'd better give every bit of that money to charities.  They gave her a list with suggestions on how much she should give to each.
    The rest of the family tried to convince her not to do it, but my mother was scared.  The Spir panicked her. So she gave all our money away...not only the money from the recycling, but the rest of the family's money as well. We didn't get a penny!
     So here I am.  I intend to get even tomorrow.  I'd never have had to pull the scams that got me in jail if I'd had my share of that money!  The Spir are garbage!  They won't leave other people alone.  They won't let them make a buck.  They won't be so high and mighty when WE get through with them.  I'm not a scared old woman.  I'll fight the damned animals!  Damn, will I fight!"
    "Right on!"  somebody cried "Right on!"
    "What about you Wellington?"  the lieutenant finished.  "What brought you accrossed the Atlantic?  What did The Spir do to you in merry old England?"

Page 7

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